


On the Same Wavelength

by Hexiva



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Angst, Autistic-Coded Character, Canon Character of Color, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen or Pre-Slash, Guilt, Holding Hands, M/M, Nightmares, S4 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24211015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexiva/pseuds/Hexiva
Summary: Elliot is on the run from the Dark Army, with Leon there to protect him. One night, as they're staying in a motel room together, Leon has a nightmare, and Elliot stays up with him. They talk about money, guilt, and friendship.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson & Leon, Elliot Alderson/Leon
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	On the Same Wavelength

**Author's Note:**

> Set in some sort of vague s4 AU where Elliot went on the run with Darlene instead of going back to Washington Township, maybe. This was written because I saw a few fics where Leon takes care of Elliot, but none going the other way around, and I wanted to make one focusing on Leon's angst. Unfortunately, I did wind up getting kind of overwhelmed by the crushing mountain of Elliot's angst, which has a way of taking over a story.

Elliot is on the run from the Dark Army and the FBI and the entire capitalist system, so when he hears Leon cry out, he jolts upright in bed. God, what if the Dark Army’s found them? What if they’re going to kill Leon for betraying them? What if Leon’s already dead, just like Shayla, just like Angela, just like - 

He’s catastrophizing again. He forces himself to get out of bed, shaking with tension, and peers over at the other bed in their little motel room.

Leon is curled up, half-under the blankets. He’s  _ fine,  _ and Elliot breathes out a deep sigh of relief. Leon’s fine.

Leon makes another sound of distress, and mutters something that sounds like a plea. It dawns on Elliot that Leon is having a nightmare. Elliot hesitates, wondering if he should go back to bed and try to ignore him. Leave him alone. But he’s had his own share of nightmares. Would he be rather left to suffer with his dignity intact? Or be woken up?

Elliot steps over to Leon’s bedside, and says, “Hey - Leon - ”

Leon  _ jerks  _ upright, his eyes wide, and he moves quickly, his hand going to the bedside table to grab his pistol - and then he stops, staring at Elliot. “Elli,” he says, slowly, blinking. “You startled me. Thought you was some Dark Army goon.”

“No,” Elliot says, dumbly. He takes a deep breath. “You were having a nightmare. I thought I should - wake you up. Sorry.”

“Naw,” Leon says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Naw, man, it’s cool.” He glances at his hand, and there’s a shadow of disgust on his face when he sees the pistol. He drops it back on the nightstand and pushes it away. “What time is it?”

“Late,” Elliot says. He sits down on the side of the bed, watching Leon until he has to look away, break the eye contact. The words slip out of him. “What were you dreaming about?”

_ Shit.  _ That’s too personal. He should leave Leon alone. What is wrong with him?

Leon is silent for a moment, staring out of the motel window where streetlights peek through the window shades.

“Sorry,” Elliot says, and gets up. “I should let you sleep.”

Leon shakes his head. “S’cool. Don’t think I could go back to sleep.” He looks up at Elliot, and Elliot sees something vulnerable in his eyes. “Sorry I woke you up, cuz.”

“It’s cool,” Elliot says, copying Leon’s words. “I never . . . I always have trouble sleeping anyway.” He reaches out and flicks on the lamp. 

“Yeah,” Leon says. “I know what that’s like.”

Elliot goes into the bathroom and fills up a little paper cup of water for himself. Figuring Leon could use it, he gets another one for Leon, and sets it down on the nightstand between their beds.

“I was dreaming about the first time I killed a guy,” Leon says, abruptly, and Elliot goes still.

Elliot’s never killed anyone, not technically. But he feels like his hands are dripping with blood. Shayla’s. Olivia’s. Every one of those people who died in Stage 2. He’s no stranger to guilt. 

“He probably deserved it,” Elliot says. He’s not very good at this whole comforting thing.

“Yeah,” Leon says, and chuckles slightly. “He did. But the others didn’t, you know?” He reaches for the cup of water and gulps it down. “They didn’t deserve it. But somehow he’s the one I keep coming back to. Some random racist motherfucker who got in my face in a prison fight . . . ‘cause after that, I got better at it. Didn’t . . . I threw up, the first time. And after that, I figured out how not to.”

Elliot doesn’t like to think of it, all the people Leon’s killed. It makes him think of that night in the barn, Leon holding the gun to Darlene’s head, and the look on Leon’s face when he shot all those people, like it was nothing to him. Just another day in the life, just another day of labor under capitalism, and Elliot sitting there surrounded by dead bodies wondering if he was going to be next. 

“Why do you do it?” Elliot asks. “For . . . what, fast cars and expensive clothes?” It comes out a little harsher than he intends, but how can it not? What Leon does, in a way, isn’t so different from what Terry Colby did. Leon doesn’t have the cover of respectability, but it’s the same deal: money for blood. 

Leon chuckles to himself. “Ain’t you heard? There is no ethical consumption under capitalism . . . no, yeah, I know. I know it ain’t the same, what I do.” He leans back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. “I don’t do it for the cars or the clothes. I’m not  _ that  _ shallow. Used to do it for my sisters. For my whole family. You can put a lot of meals on a lot of tables by putting a bullet in one nosy journalist . . .”

Money: it drives everybody. That’s what Elliot hates about it. But he’s not so fucking stupid that he thinks he’s better than everyone because he doesn’t give a shit about money. He’s  _ lucky.  _ That his private obsessions are profitable under capitalism, that his family was middle-class, that his conditions don’t stop him from holding down a job, that he can afford the pills that are supposed to stop him from wanting to kill himself and the CPUs he tosses into the microwave everytime he does a wipedown. In another life, he could’ve been on the other end of the capitalist supply chain, slaving away in a factory breathing deadly chemicals to make those CPUs. 

“When does it stop?” Elliot asks. “When is it enough?”

Leon chuckles to himself again, and it seems to Elliot that he’s laughing because he doesn’t know what else to do, because he’s spent years learning how not to cry. “It was enough a long time ago.” He looks back out the window. “I got enough, cuz. I could keep them safe, pay the bills, keep the lights on, with what I’ve got now. I could do it.”

“Then why?” Elliot says, the question eating away at him.

Leon shakes his head, and Elliot thinks he’s not going to answer the question. Maybe this conversation is over. Maybe that’s for the best. 

“What are you going to do?” Leon asks. “When it’s all over. Let’s say you get off scot-free, you can go back to your life. You gonna give it up? The hacking, the vigilante shit. Go back to writing DDOS protections and uninstalling viruses?”

Elliot sits back down on his bed, and curls up, his arms around his knees. “I tried that,” he says. “I tried to be normal. It never works out for me.”

“Me neither, cuz,” Leon says. “You can’t get this kinda high working with normies.”

Elliot is silent for a moment. A question is bubbling up inside of him, eating away at his stomach and throat, fighting to escape his lips. He doesn’t want to ask it. Ignorance is bliss, right? 

He’s always been shit at blissful ignorance.

“Did you kill Trenton and Mobley?” Elliot asks. 

Leon shifts, and Elliot’s heart sinks at the pause. “No,” Leon says, eventually. “I brought ‘em in and then - I left. What happened to them - I try not to know about shit like that. I got enough blood on my own hands . . .”

Elliot shuts his eyes. His heart hurts. “It’s my fault. I got them into this. I got them killed.”

“You weren’t the one who tied ‘em up, cuz,” Leon says, quietly.

“I never - ” Elliot starts, and then cuts himself off, and then starts again. “I never got to know them. I couldn’t afford to. Couldn’t afford to trust anyone. And now they’re gone.”

Leon draws in a slow, pained breath. “I’m sorry,” he says, because it’s the only thing he can say.

“No,” Elliot says. “No, it’s not that.” The words are bubbling up again, and his imaginary friend isn’t here, Mr. Robot isn’t here, he is alone in his head. “I never let anyone in and now they’re all gone. Shayla, Angela, Tyrell, Mobley, Trenton, Romero. I never - I never let myself know them.” He looks up and over at Leon, desperately wanting him to understand. “And I’m scared that one day you’re going to be gone and I’ll have missed you too. Like I always do.”

Leon meets his gaze, searching for something in his face. “Everybody dies someday, cuz. But you gotta make the most of it while you’re here.”

“I want to,” Elliot says, before he can stop himself. “God, I want to.” He looks away, breaking that unbearable eye contact. He wants to be understood but being seen is too much, like being flayed alive, every disgustingly human fiber of his body laid bare for anyone to see. “You’re one of the good ones,” he says. “No matter what you’ve - done.” 

He’s not sure it’s true. It goes against everything he believes, the shadow of justice he clings to to keep him going. But he  _ feels  _ it, deep in his chest. Leon is safe. Leon is good. 

Leon chuckles, and Elliot glances over to see him smiling over at Elliot. “Think you might be the only one who thinks that, cuz. But thanks. I get you. We’re on the same wavelength.”

And that’s it, that’s what Elliot wanted to hear. Leon understands.

Leon holds out a hand across the space between their two beds, and Elliot reaches out to take it. Leon’s hand is solid and calloused and warm, and Elliot hears him let out a slow breath, breathing out the tension. 

“Thanks, Elli,” Leon says, very quietly. 

“Anytime, man,” Elliot says, and he means it. “If the nightmares come back - ”

“They will,” Leon says.

“Then I’ll be here,” Elliot says, determined. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He squeezes Leon’s hand, and he doesn’t need to look at him to know Leon is smiling. 


End file.
